


Flicker Fire

by mapped



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Choking, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03, Rough Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7857970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapped/pseuds/mapped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he wakes up in Flint's cabin with half a leg less and sees how soft his captain can be for the first time, Silver will never be content until he finds out how to elicit that softness once again.</p><p>Set in the gap between S2 and S3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flicker Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dee218](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee218/gifts).



> One scene shamelessly inspired by [this bit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgsXhpWR5Aw) from _Kill Your Darlings_ (this is where the Silver/Idelle comes in). Another scene is the violent, angry post-2x10/pre-3x04 sex that Sus wanted me to write. The rest is mostly just post-2x10 angst: there's a lot of stuff about his disability from Silver's POV.
> 
> Title from 'Hymnal' by In the Valley Below.

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the way Flint had acted those brief moments after he finally surfaced to consciousness in the captain’s cabin on the Spanish warship. Flint’s gentle voice. The smiles that were tugging insistently at the edges of his lips. He had seemed, for a minute or two, not a man of hard bone and fragile skin like any other, but something moulded out of soft, sea-washed sand, that would give underneath Silver’s touch and be gladly shaped by him. If Silver had only touched him.

Then Silver had told him about the gold, and that fleeting appearance of softness was gone in an instant, and Flint was once again the very image of his name.

And he has remained thus since, resistant to every attempt that Silver has made to chip away at his exterior to once again discover that softness that he glimpsed beneath.

He wonders often whether Flint has guessed at his betrayal. He does not know quite how to explain Flint’s reaction and behaviour towards him otherwise. Although Flint has always been a goddamn mystery anyway, truth be told. But Silver prides himself on being better able to solve that mystery than anyone else. And for a precious handful of moments in that cabin when Silver first recovered, Flint had been no mystery at all.

Confined to lying down for the most part, Silver has too much time to think about these things now. But even with the abundance of time on his hands, he fails to come to any conclusions.

* * *

The days pass in Nassau, and negotiations continue in the tavern that used to be Eleanor’s but is now Max’s. 

Silver has taken up lodgings in the tavern. To the side of the office, there’s a little alcove of a room where Eleanor used to sleep. It was free for Silver’s occupancy since Eleanor was arrested, as Max still resides at the brothel. Silver shows up to the meetings that take place practically at his bedside, in the office, but mostly he stays in bed and sleeps fitfully, wakes sweating to thoughts that do not lead anywhere. The crew come and visit him, share gossip with him. Billy shows up a lot, though he’s not the gossiping type. Muldoon also shows up a lot.

Muldoon mentions Logan’s name in conversation, talking of the past, and Silver thinks of the floor in that brothel room, slick with blood.

“Still can’t believe that bastard just up and left us,” Muldoon says. He and Logan seemed close, Silver remembers.

“Well, love does strange things to us all,” Silver says, even though he wouldn’t really know. It’s not like he’s ever experienced love.

“He was always too obsessed with that Charlotte,” Muldoon says, shaking his head. “I ain’t gonna forgive him for leaving us, but I do hope they’re happy. You reckon they got far, or they’re still somewhere around these parts and we just gonna walk right into him someday?”

“I think they probably got as far away from this place as possible. I would’ve.”

Muldoon laughs a little and tilts his head, looks at Silver sidelong as if to say _No, you wouldn’t. I seen what you’d do for us all. You wouldn’t leave us._

“The way he talked about her, man,” Muldoon says. “You ever wish you could have something like that in your life?”

“Is that an offer?” Silver asks, smiling as cheerfully as he can manage through the constant and blinding fog of pain. Muldoon’s inclinations are no secret, but Silver finds himself wondering for the first time whether Muldoon had felt that way about Logan.

Muldoon laughs louder this time, but when the laughter stops he looks somewhat maudlin, mouth tight and eyes downcast. “He could’ve said something to me before he left,” he mutters, not looking at Silver. “Thought he was only gonna go fuck Charlotte and then he was gone for good, just like that. That kind of friend ain’t worth a fat lot of nothing, but I still hope he’s happy anyway.”

Ah. He definitely had felt that way, then.

He looks at Silver now, apology in his expression. “Sorry, I dunno why I keep going on about all that,” he says. “Should probably leave you alone now.”

“No worries,” Silver says smoothly. “I’m always happy to lend an ear if you need to talk about anything.”

“You’re a good man, Silver,” Muldoon says before departing.

Silver stares at the ceiling for a good while after that.

He had told Max at the earliest opportunity he could that he no longer wanted his share of the gold. With his leg lost, he sees no point. He’s tied to the men now; he almost gave up his fucking life for them. What’s he going to do with all that gold that he lied to every single one of them to obtain?

That doesn’t make him a good man though. He’s not what they all think he is. Flint is the only one of the _Walrus_ who might have any idea—

Silver bites his lip. Flint, Flint, Flint. His thoughts lead nowhere, or maybe they all lead to Flint.

He forces his thoughts back towards their original path. He feels a sliver of pity for Muldoon, who knows nothing of Logan’s true fate. Is it better not to know? Or does it hurt more to think that Logan really just abandoned him and the rest of the crew voluntarily, without a word?

He could never tell Muldoon the truth, of course, but some part of him almost wants to. He lives a life of lies, and it’s not often that he stops to think much about how some of those lies affect people. But right now, he does. He thinks, and he thinks.

* * *

He dreams of the captain’s red hair slipping through his fingers and falling in sheaves to the floor.

On the warship, while Silver had been in the throes of a second fever, it had seemed like this: one moment Silver was squinting at bronze hair haloed in lantern light as Flint pressed a clammy cloth to Silver’s forehead, and the next there was bright, hot sun and water was trickling past his lips from a cup that Flint was tipping to his mouth, and Silver was staring, staring at where all that hair had been and no longer was.

In his dream, the hair descends slowly—floats, more like. It’s giving Silver all the time to catch it, but it won’t let itself be caught. Like the ocean, it evades his grasp.

It darkens and turns to blood at his feet, pooling thick and sticky, seeping past his bare toes.

He starts awake, fist clutching damp sheets.

He doesn’t even have _feet_. Just the one, and then empty space where his other foot had been and no longer is.

 _Wake up_ , he wills himself, throwing a hand across his face and biting into his own flesh, stomach churning. _Wake up._ As if this is just another nightmare he’ll emerge from, eventually.

* * *

The first time he leaves the office and enters the buzz of public space once more, testing out the unfamiliar weight of the iron boot, it is mere moments before members of his crew start gathering around him. Word spreads fast. And word is their new quartermaster, who saved all of them, is walking again.

They’re chattering away to him, _at_ him in excitement. He can barely hear anything they’re saying, but instead his ears are oddly attuned to the clinking of a flagon, the clatter of a wooden tray.

If he thought he had been aware of his stump before, he was wrong. Now he feels as if that stump is his entire existence: the warm constriction of leather around it feels more like the sharp-toothed mouth of a wild beast devouring his leg anew.

His head is spinning. He murmurs something—he does not know what—and then he is stumbling back inside the office, slamming the door shut behind him. He makes his way to the bed just barely, relieved that he did not have to resort to crawling, and then he is grappling to get the boot off, but it’s become a creature with its own will that can fight back, and his fingers are too thick and clumsy.

Finally, it hits the floor with a clang and he’s gasping. Everything goes dark for a while and when he comes to, he’s still sobbing, his throat raw and dry.

He does not attempt to wear the iron boot again for a week.

By then, negotiations are complete. After all those present at the meeting have reiterated their terms and confirmed their agendas moving forward, they disperse slowly, the inertia brought on by hours of dull discussion still clinging to each of them. Apart from Silver, Flint is the last to leave; Silver watches him give Max a nod before she slips out of the room.

Within the walls of this office, Silver uses a crutch for mobility. He grabs it now, but as he stands, Flint is suddenly by his side, his posture awkward, his body tilted as if he is about to offer Silver his shoulder for support.

But he does not.

He only follows Silver as Silver travels to his bed in halting steps, crutch swinging. “We’ll set sail as soon as you’re—ready,” Flint says when Silver has sat down on the bed. “You’ll need to think about which men you want to send out on the first raid with me.”

Silver already has a list. He’ll give it to Flint later. He does not say this, but he pours himself some watered-down ale and drinks it.

“Will another week’s rest be enough?” Flint asks.

“Tomorrow,” Silver says. “We can set sail tomorrow. Get all the supplies loaded up today.”

Flint narrows his eyes. “You’ve not set foot outside of this tavern since we returned to Nassau,” he says. “I’m not carrying you to the ship. We’re not setting sail until you can walk to the beach and get aboard the _Walrus_ yourself.”

“We can set sail tomorrow,” Silver repeats firmly. He brushes aside the mental image of Flint carrying him like some blushing bride. A blushing bride with only one leg. What a fucking sight that would be. “We have no time to lose. We’ve already been idling here for too long. It’s been—what, a month and a half since Charles Town? We need to be building on the fear that you’ve caused by the bloodshed there.”

“Did you not hear me?” Flint says, his jaw twitching.

“I’ll _walk_ ,” Silver says, staring upwards resolutely into Flint’s eyes.

Flint shakes his head. “You’re out of your mind,” he says. “Howell tells me if you don’t take care, there’s a chance—”

“I know,” Silver cuts him off. “Believe me, I have heard it a dozen times over.”

“You won’t even use the crutch, will you?” Flint asks.

Silver snorts. Flint knows him, after all. If it had been Flint… he would not allow himself to rely on a crutch either, would he? “I’ll make it to the beach on my own—” _Two legs._ He stops there, as if he had meant to finish the sentence that way, though it is obvious from the abrupt break in his intonation that he had not.

“Your pride will be the death of you,” Flint says.

It is not pride, Silver thinks. It is what is _necessary_. But no matter. If Flint supposes it is pride, Silver will let him. “Is there anything else you need from me?” he asks. “Otherwise send Billy in and I’ll get him to make preparations and inform the rest of the crew.”

“Fine,” Flint says. “But you’ll rest afterwards.”

 _All I’ve been fucking doing for weeks is resting._ “Yes, I’ll rest.”

Flint gives him a look of wary disbelief, and then he goes, an air of annoyed reluctance about him in the slump of his shoulders, as if already resigned to the fact that Silver is not going to do as he says.

* * *

After Billy has come and gone, Silver puts on the iron boot again. His stump is a little less swollen than it was a week ago, and the boot fits more easily.

He walks out of the office. It does not hurt as much as last time, though it is still a far cry from being remotely comfortable. 

Dooley, drinking at a table near the doors of the office with other _Walrus_ men, spots him first. He leaps up with a grin. “Billy just told me we’re setting sail tomorrow.”

“Aye,” Silver says.

“Well, we were all just about to head over to the inn and get a good last fuck in,” Parker chirps up. “And we were thinking you should come with us! Our treat, like we do with new members of the crew. To celebrate you becoming our quartermaster and all.”

Silver opens his mouth to protest but everyone else at the table sloshes their drink in his direction and cheers, rendering anything he might have to say inaudible, and he is swept up in a crowd of them as they jostle their way out of the tavern and into the inn across the street.

This was not how he had planned to spend his evening. He’d only wanted to take a short walk around town, to get used to the feeling of the boot, but now he is surrounded by flirting whores and his enthusiastic brothers, nudging him and insinuating the promise of meeting Blackbeard once again. Silver laughs, hollow, as his men pool together coins for him.

Then Max sweeps in and takes the payment with a sweet smile, nodding along to the ribaldry of Silver’s crew. “I have reserved the best for your quartermaster,” she coos, winking at them, and then she is linking her arm with Silver’s and leading him up the stairs.

They go into the first room. It is empty. Silver sits down on the bed immediately. “No Blackbeard, then?” he says, feigning amused disappointment to cover his relief both at the marked absence of whores and at the opportunity to rest his leg. “And I was under the impression you didn’t entertain this sort of client anymore.”

“No, I don’t,” Max says. “I will be honest with you, Mr Silver, it seemed to me that the last thing you wanted was an orgy.”

“Was it that obvious?” he says, wryly.

“But your men have paid,” Max says. “So if you change your mind, you may have any of the girls you wish. Perhaps Idelle? You and her got on quite well the last time, as I recall.”

“And why would I change my mind?” Silver says.

“Pleasure is pleasure,” Max says, shrugging. “You want it, or you do not. If you decide halfway that you do not want it, Idelle is not going to judge. Nor is she going to tell. Of all those who work here, she is the most discreet. She will keep your secrets.”

Silver studies her. “You know, it’s remarkable how much we’ve both changed since we first met.”

“Yes,” Max says, softly. “Nassau is such a place. All it takes is a gust of wind, and we become so different. The sand shifts, the waves wash away what we were once.”

 _A gust of wind._ Max and Flint really ought to speak to each other more; they converse in the same sort of poetry. But Flint had said that Silver would be something solid the men could count on in such a gust of wind. That doesn’t seem right. How can Silver be solid and unchanging when he has survived by being malleable all his life?

“I just don’t know if I can be so easily diverted by a good fuck,” Silver says.

“Well, in that respect you will not have changed,” Max says, smiling. “But it does not matter to me. I already have the money. If it is your wish simply to lie in this bed for an hour, I will leave you to it.” She turns to leave, a swish of her skirts.

“Wait,” Silver says. Max stops and looks back at him. “Send Idelle in.”

* * *

Idelle opens the door and Silver stands up, steadying himself on the bedpost.

“You know,” he begins, conversationally, “I rather thought that Mr Featherstone would have bought your freedom with his share of the Urca gold. I’ve heard he’s developed a bit of an infatuation.”

“Oh, the feelings are mutual,” Idelle says, smiling. “I like him a lot. But he doesn’t have a problem with me taking a bit of work now and then if I want it.” At this, Idelle’s smile turns into a bit of a smirk. “And we had fun last time, didn’t we?”

Silver actually can’t quite recall. He knows, distantly as he would a once-learned fact that has nothing to do with him, that he _did_ have fun, but the fun had been dampened by an unshakeable undertone of worry that the schedule would be gone when he looked again, and the entire memory is somewhat overshadowed by everything that has happened in the intervening period.

Idelle is before him now. She takes off his shirt and palms his soft cock through his trousers. “What would you like?” she asks. “Want me to suck your cock?”

Silver’s cock stiffens in her squeezing hand; he can’t remember the last time he touched himself. It must have been before—

And the last time anyone else touched him? It was here in this inn, the day he was initiated into the crew as their new cook. Logan was one of the men who had brought him here. At the thought of Logan, he can’t help but think of Muldoon’s face, that sad twist to Muldoon’s mouth.

Idelle unlaces the front of her dress and her tits spill out. Oh, those _tits_. They press up against his bare chest. Silver tries to make himself focus on that, swallowing weakly before saying, “Yes.”

Idelle is unbuttoning his trousers, drawing them down just a little, just enough to let his cock spring out. A part of Silver’s brain wonders if it is deliberate, if she does not want to see the site of his tragedy, or if she thinks that she is doing him a kindness by letting it remain hidden.

She gets to her knees, looking up at him with her bold eyes.

Then her mouth is on him. For the first few seconds, Silver almost tricks himself into believing it will be all right; the wet heat of Idelle’s mouth is the best thing he’s felt in a long time.

But then that feeling of being grounded by that pleasure slips away from him, like an anchor being dislodged from the seabed. His stump aches. Idelle is kneeling in front of him and _right there_ is where his leg ought to be but is now only metal that can be detached from the rest of him.

He shifts to put more weight on his real leg. He parses the pain and the pleasure he is experiencing in odd ways, as fractured pieces that he cannot relate to himself. His mind is a ship drifting slowly away from the harbour of his body.

The door creaks open, and there’s—

Flint.

Silver witnesses the moment that Flint’s eyes go from hard and determined upon a goal, to wide surprise at the scene before him.

Idelle, dedicated as she is, doesn’t stop, since Silver doesn’t ask her to and Flint makes absolutely no sound.

Flint just stands there upon the threshold, unmoving.

Silver does not know how to react. The most natural response, _What the fuck, Captain?_ , is stuck in his throat. They stare at each other. Flint’s gaze lowers, traversing the path of Silver’s body downwards, then back up, unflinching and _hungry_.

That is how Silver finds his mooring: in Flint’s eyes. His nipples harden, his breath quickens. He does not look away, and Flint does not, either. The tense line of Flint’s body eases, as if he has acknowledged that Silver is not averse to what is happening, and so neither is he. He had been leaning forward, in the act of stepping into the room, but now, he relaxes, body slanting against the door leaf at a casual angle as he watches Silver getting his cock sucked. There’s a hint of a wicked curve to his lips, and just that hint is enough to make Silver shiver with want, a yearning to feel it against his own lips.

It registers again, Idelle’s mouth, Idelle’s tongue swirling around the head of his cock, and Silver bucks, exhaling sharply. Flint’s smirk is expanding, and Silver cannot quite see, but is that—a bulge in Flint’s trousers? A bulge that Flint is in no way attempting to conceal.

Silver’s breath is rough and uneven and his skin prickles all over under Flint’s unwavering gaze. He bites his lip and grasps Idelle’s hair; his hips jerk as Flint rubs a hand over his own crotch and Flint’s mouth falls open.

A mouth that Silver desperately wants to replace Idelle’s.

He is coming then with a groan into Idelle’s mouth, eyes fluttering shut despite his wish to keep them on Flint, shudders running up his spine. When he opens his eyes, Flint is still there, still looking at him, and for a moment longer, they are joined in this quiet realm which feels like an other world, something beyond this earth. Then Flint turns on his heels and flees.

Idelle looks behind her just in time to catch the retreating form of the captain. She glares at Silver and rolls her eyes. “Typical,” she says, standing up.

Silver sits down heavily on the bed. “What do you mean?” He can’t wrap his head around what the fuck just happened.

“There’s always something else with you, isn’t there?” she observes. “Always something else grabbing your attention.” She cups his cheek and sighs. “It’s a good thing you’re so pretty.”

* * *

When Silver emerges from the room, the first thing he tries to do is to find Flint. But Flint is nowhere to be found, and so Silver returns to his little alcove in Max’s tavern and unstraps his iron boot, glad to be rid of its horrible, moist leather maw once more. He washes his stump with the basin of clean water by the bedside that one of Max’s employees must have replenished while he was gone, and then he settles into bed and occupies himself with some reading for the evening.

Some time later, though, more than midway through _King Lear_ , he hears the doors of the office open and then Flint is striding into the alcove. Silver scrambles for his crutch and struggles out of bed.

“I came to see whether there was anything you wanted to talk to me about before we set sail tomorrow,” Flint says. “And if you’re still intent on setting sail tomorrow.” 

“Yes and yes: what the fuck were you doing at the brothel?” Silver asks, finally voicing the confusion and shock that has been plaguing him for the past couple of hours. He knows, from talking to the crew, that it’s never been a place where one might expect to see their captain.

“I had something I wanted to discuss with Max,” Flint says. “I thought that was her room. Instead I found—” He looks almost pained.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Silver asks.

“I—” Flint bares his teeth in frustration. “For Christ’s sake, let’s not pretend you didn’t start enjoying it more the second you set eyes on me.”

Silver inhales. “I won’t pretend,” he says. “As long as you won’t pretend you didn’t want to be on your knees sucking my cock too.” He doesn’t know where in hell he got this blazing audacity from. It makes him feel light-headed with a strange thrill. But why else would Flint even be here, if not to talk about _this_?

Flint’s nostrils flare. “You shit,” he says. “You fucking—” His face is inches from Silver’s now, and he stops, and there’s that pained expression again, like someone just carved a knife deep into him, and Silver finally recognises it: it is what Flint looks like when he wants something so badly he cannot function without it, like that single-minded drive for the Urca gold that made him snap his best friend’s neck.

Silver kisses him first, crashing their mouths together, drawn to that awful abyss of longing that gapes so fathomlessly just for him. Flint responds with equal ferocity, knocking the crutch out of Silver’s hand and pushing him so Silver falls on his back on the bed. Flint chases Silver’s mouth and kisses him like he means to possess him, like Silver is treasure that Flint can hoard for himself, and it makes Silver want to do the same to him, to keep Flint for the rest of his days.

“I won’t suck your cock,” Flint says, lips glistening with spit and red from their kiss. “But I’ll fuck you if that’s what you want.” 

“Then fuck me, Captain,” Silver says, his body thrumming with anticipation just from saying the words.

Flint looks into his eyes for a while, as if searching for something to make him change his mind, but he doesn’t find it. He tugs on Silver’s shirt and Silver takes it off. Flint’s mouth descends at once, tongue skimming over Silver’s nipple, followed by a delicate application of teeth. His hands travel down, undoing Silver’s trousers and stripping them off, and then back up to the muscles of Silver’s belly. Silver knows he doesn’t look anywhere near as good as he did once—weeks of lying down and recovering from an amputation can do that to you—but Flint’s breath still hitches at the touch of his skin, and he remembers how Flint had gazed at him with desire when he’d stumbled upon him shirtless in the inn just hours ago.

Flint looks up, scanning the room. He takes the lamp oil from the bedside and pours some onto his fingers, and then he inserts a finger into Silver, a simmering sensation that has Silver greedy for more. He brings a hand to his cock, which is already hard and beading wetness at the tip, but Flint intercepts him.

“You’re not to touch yourself,” he warns. With both hands he wrestles with Silver, who resists with a heated grin, a sudden flash of playfulness, a piece of his old self that illuminates him out of nowhere, until he’s trapped Silver’s wrists above Silver’s head. Using one hand to keep them there, he kisses Silver’s shoulder, biting and licking in turns as he works the fingers of his other hand into Silver, twisting them within him in cruel, exquisite motions that has Silver thrashing underneath the press of Flint’s body.

“Have you ever done this before?” Flint asks.

“What does it matter?” Silver answers.

Flint looks thrown for a moment, as if he has forgotten that he and Silver are not tender lovers achieving a union of body and of mind, and that there is no reason for them to share such tidbits of their pasts with each other. Then he grunts and says, “Very well,” and his fingers curl—as if summoning the tide, capsizing Silver in a wave of pleasure that crests over him.

Silver swears. Flint smirks, withdrawing his fingers and pulling Silver closer to the edge of the bed. He straightens, standing between Silver’s thighs, his trousers pooling below his knees; Silver hooks his leg around Flint’s waist, thinking about complaining since Flint is still practically fully _clothed_ , damn him, but then Flint spreads him open with a thumb and pushes into him in an inexorable glide, and Silver forgets anything else.

With one hand still caging Silver’s wrists and his other hand landing on Silver’s thigh, Flint smoothly fills Silver up. His cock in Silver is overwhelming, burning like fire clearing the land to make way for new possibilities, and Silver drops his head to the side and moans.

Flint bends down and kisses the skin below his ear. “It looks to me like you’re the one who’s all needy for my cock,” he whispers, and latches his teeth into Silver’s earlobe. Silver trembles. “How does it feel?”

 _Like anything could happen. Like all that Urca gold lying on the beach. Like you must have felt when they voted you captain again. Like renewal, like a second chance. Like the_ last _chance._ “Feels good.” His voice sounds like it’s coming from far off. “ _Fuck._ ”

“I told you to rest,” Flint says, scornfully. “And what do I find you doing? Standing in the fucking brothel getting your cock sucked by a whore.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” Silver explains, though there’s hardly any point. “The crew paid for me. They wanted to do something for their beloved quartermaster. I couldn’t say no.” It’s difficult getting the words out when Flint’s fucking him like this, every powerful thrust sliding in deeper and opening his body up more, but he manages.

“You never fucking do as you’re told,” Flint scolds. “You’re a fucking liar and a thief.” Silver wonders, not for the first time, whether Flint knows he had stolen the Urca gold from him. “Tell me, what else are you good for apart from spouting pretty lies and stories with that mouth of yours?” Flint slows his pace for a moment, tracing his fingers around the rim of Silver’s hole, stretched around Flint’s thick cock. “Is this what you’re good for?”

“Yes,” Silver breathes. “And my mouth is good for other things too. I can show you next time—”

“You think there’s going to be a next time?” Flint asks, doing that terrifying smile which shows all his teeth and which arouses Silver to a frankly embarrassing degree. “You think I’m going to allow you the privilege of my cock again?”

Silver moans brokenly. He won’t dignify Flint’s arrogant teasing with a reply. “Come on, harder, Captain, come _on_.” He grinds his hips upwards, clenches his arse.

“Tell me the truth. This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? For me to fuck you like this, to own you like this, with my cock inside you?” Flint’s hand slides from Silver’s wrists down the length of his arm and then it presses down on Silver’s neck, lightly but surely. His green eyes are bright and lethal, a sea where mermaids pull sailors under forever, and Silver wants to fucking drown just like this.

“Y—yes, Captain,” he chokes. “ _Yes_ , fuck me!”

Flint tightens the pressure around his neck and ploughs into him harder, hips rolling relentlessly forward, the sound of his balls slapping against Silver’s arse ringing clear and loud in the air. Silver’s so _hard_ , Christ, he’s so close to coming, he just needs Flint to touch him, but he can’t, he won’t beg for that, and anyway it’s nearly impossible to spit out any words when Flint’s hand is fast around his neck. He could touch himself now that Flint isn’t holding his hands down, but—Flint said no, and for some reason his body wants to listen.

“You’re so fucking aggravating,” Flint growls, letting go of his neck at last and flattening his palm against Silver’s sternum, pushing down forcefully in yet more delicious weight. “So fucking _stupid_. Your leg—! Tempting fate as if you _want_ to lose the rest of it.” He runs his other hand down the inside of Silver’s thigh and then his knuckles, featherlight, over Silver’s red, ugly stump.

It’s such a stark contrast to the way he’s ruthlessly pounding Silver’s arse that it wrenches a noise from Silver’s throat, an unholy noise that is half humiliated agony and half astonished bliss; his cock pulses, spurting over his abdomen in pale streaks.

“You goddamn idiot,” Flint says, leaning over him. Flint laughs, a little. “Jesus _Christ_.” He pulls out of Silver and rubs his cock on Silver’s, a hand around them both, and Silver whines and squirms, as Flint’s stiff, hot cock drags against too-sensitive skin.

“Ah, fuck, _ah_!” Silver’s eyes squeeze tightly shut and he sees white. “ _Shit_!” He _loves_ it, doesn’t ever want it to stop even though it’s almost painful, but then Flint is panting by his ear and loosening his grip on him, the spatters of his release mixed in with Silver’s own, indistinguishable on Silver’s body.

Flint rights himself, breath still unsteady, pulling his trousers up and fastening them. He caresses Silver’s neck and regards Silver with soft eyes, seeming to drink in the picture before him, Silver’s naked body painted with both their seed, and Silver feels his cheeks flush. But then something goes dark in Flint’s eyes, and he is his namesake again, impassive and unreadable. Silver is left with the reassurance that he now knows just what kind of spark can be struck from Flint—not only rage, renowned and feared by all, but _desire_ , private and rare and wondrous.

“Get some rest,” the captain says, voice jagged. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” And he turns and leaves.

An instinct arises in Silver that wants Flint to stay, but it is a pathetic instinct and Silver refuses to heed it. He watches Flint go. Then he flings his arm over his eyes and lies there for a while, too listless to clean himself up. Even covered in the evidence of Flint’s visit, the whole thing still feels no different from another ridiculous dream of his. All his life right now feels like one dream segueing restlessly into another. When will he wake?

* * *

Silver holds onto the rails of the ship, looking into the darkness punctuated by torches in the distance, firelight outlining the shore.

Muldoon stands beside him. “The captain’s in a right shitty mood lately,” he says. “I thought it was what happened in Charles Town, but he ain’t getting any better. You got any idea what’s up with him?”

 _God fucking knows_ , Silver thinks resentfully. “I’ll figure it out,” he says.

He’ll figure it out, what kind of game it is they’re engaged in and what the rules of the game are. He’ll figure out how to get Flint to touch him again, how to unearth the softness that he knows is there. But right now, he feels lost, swaying this way and that in the ever-fluctuating ocean. It’s been two weeks since they fucked, that once, and Silver doesn’t let himself think about how much he wants it to happen again.

As they wait for the raid party to return, the conversation meanders and turns to Logan again. Silver wonders with sudden horror whether he also does this exact thing without realising, whether he talks of Flint like there is no other topic worthy of his tongue but this, like the eagle circling back to peck out Prometheus’ liver every day by divine order, powerless to do otherwise.

“I miss him,” Muldoon says. “Funny how it works. You stop thinking about it for days and days but then it just comes out of nowhere and it hits you.”

Silver nods. “I get it,” he says, and he thinks he actually does get it now, what Muldoon felt—feels?—for Logan, and it creates this pit of cavernous terror in his stomach.

Then the longboats are back, and Flint climbs aboard, and it dispels some of the terror, at least, because Flint is unscathed. He looks like he’s still thinking about murder, though, eyes grim and unseeing. Silver limps over to meet him, and Flint’s eyes refocus, alighting on Silver, and for a moment he looks like he wants nothing more than to reach for Silver and to embrace him, and Silver wants to ask, wants to demand, _Fuck me until all of this stops feeling like a dream_ , but Flint only lays a hand on his shoulder before stumbling back to his cabin like a somnambulist, like he and Silver are both just sleep-walkers passing through each other’s dreams for a brief instant.

How can there be anything solid in such a life?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are much appreciated. <3 Come find me on [Tumblr](http://reluming.tumblr.com/)!


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